


Take Me To The Stars (Just Say Oh)

by auroreanrave



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Decimation, Dorks in Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: He has no idea who could be doing this. Someone observing him closely and buying him things he either needs or wants or would like. It's an odd cocktail of emotions, suspicion and worry intermingled with a strange pleasure of being at the centre of attention, even if it's only for a little while, he can maybe relish in having someone send him nice things. Even if it's just this tiny two-person drama, and not saving the city with help of a spider's bite.





	Take Me To The Stars (Just Say Oh)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So I wanted to do a little something for Christmas and I've been wanting to write Peter/Ned for the longest time. Plus pining and gifts and Christmas and yeah, I had a lot of fun with this and getting back into a more regular writing groove.
> 
> The timeline for this is post-Avengers: Infinity War and my vague guess at what Avengers: Endgame might include, but there are obviously no spoilers for that film. This is post-Decimation as in the tags and a general canon divergence anyway.
> 
> Title comes from the modern pop classic that is Carly Rae Jepsen's "Cut to the Feeling" which, while not strictly (or even loosely) a Christmas song, is a song that deserves to be blasted out of car stereos the whole year round.

So it begins - or really it sort of escalates gently, if Ned is being generous which seems to be his default stance these days - following the alien circle hovering over Manhattan, following the time-slip when half of everyone disappears for a few days, fading to ash only to reappear in the midst of their grief.

Things return to normal, the quick levelling of whatever societal normality is in the age of spandex-clad superheroes and alien warlords falling from the skies, and Ned remains Peter's man in the chair. They trade quips and stories and chemistry assignments when the other is busy, and Ned helps Peter patrol Queens and Brooklyn now that the Avengers are lying low.

Ned has always known since he met Peter, hunched over books together in the schoolyard with the same kind of action figures and passion for nerdy science, that he's loved him. So completely and wholeheartedly as anything he's ever known; this has only been compounded by puberty, a heady combination of teenage hormones and Peter going from dweeby to hunky overnight, to cause a crush the size of the Staten Island Ferry.

Ned is a good friend, though, so he buries it deep, compartmentalises it like a best friend should and steals better equipment from the AV club to help track Peter as he swings across boroughs and clobbers goons (he's been listening to a lot of Fifties radio specials - sue him.)

The first box is outside of Ned's window when he wakes up on a cold, crisp December morning, a cardboard box wrapped in a thin sheet of newspaper and tied with shoelaces. Ned pokes it cautiously - it'd just be his luck to have attracted the attentions of a terrorist who likes placing bombs on windowsills - and opens it when nothing jiggles or jangles or, most importantly, explodes.

Inside is a stack of CDs. Wrapped in their neat sleeves of plastic wrap, they're all Ned's guilty pleasure favourites - Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Enya - wrapped in a red and blue bow. Ned examines the stack, full of songs he already owns, and sighs.

"Only in New York."

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't mention the gift to Peter - not that he intends not to, but by the time he's made it to school, Peter is in an intense discussion with Michelle about the development of language as a tool of emotional expression and looks worringly out of his depth. Ned immediately unwraps his bunch of breakfast pandesals, hands out one to Peter and asks Michelle about her opinion on Foucault, sparing Peter twenty minutes to breathe and eat and get to more managable mental waters while Ned spars with Michelle.

That night, after homework Skype chats with Michelle and Flash while Peter has dinner with May, Ned fantasises about kissing Peter, about exploring the smooth warm skin and crooked smile he knows better than his own. He has no illusions about it - crushing on his straight best friend is as cliche as anything, but he's a fat, bisexual, Filipino-American nerd. He's allowed a break sometimes, alright?

Ned pulls Peter out of a dangerous situation a couple of times, alerts him to robbers smashing their way through a Korean convenience store in Midtown, and gets him out of dodge when police arrive unexpectedly early when he's busy quipping and stringing up a trio of super-strong jewel thieves. Ned does his job as man in the chair and keeps his man safe because even if he's somehow attracted a stalker, he's not going to let it put the person he loves at risk.

 

* * *

 

 

He starts playing the music more. It's been a long while since he jammed out to some classic Nineties Britney (his mom played it when he was in the womb and some of it must have seeped in because he can and will defend early Britney with a passion), so he pops in his earbuds on the way to school and bops out to "You Drive Me Crazy" on repeat until they reach school.

The music gets turned off as he finds Peter in the hallways, Peter's nose wrinkling a little because enhanced senses means that Peter probably finds Ned's taste in pop a little too pedestrian (Peter's still going through his dramatic Alanis Morrisette phase after finding his aunt's old vinyls so anything remotely joyful is anathema to him).

"Shuri's coming into town," Peter says as they reach their lockers. Ned nods, shuffling his textbooks and notebooks in the right combination for today's schedule. Having a Wakandan princess and MENSA member on first-name terms with him is part of the normality Ned is acclimating to.

"Nice. She can show us around a little more."

It's a running joke, but half-true. Ned and Michelle and Peter might know New York City firsthand, but going around with Shuri is always a new experience. She can get them into VIP areas, after-hours experiences. Ned has played a well-guarded game of Marco Polo in the Met, and visited the highest point of the Statue of Liberty with the lights of Manhattan aglow, and played Mario Kart with someone he thinks might have been a billionaire at one of Tony Stark's parties (although that last one was more down to Peter than Shuri). She's also funny and impossibly smart and beautiful, so it stings a little when Peter grins around her like she hung the moon.

Ned would not be surprised if Shuri actually did that too, to be fair.

"She's stopping by in time for Winter Formal," says Peter, closing his locker door.

"You thinking of asking her?"

Peter shrugs, leaning against his locker as Ned finishes up. "Maybe. Be fun as a group thing too."

Ned nods, closing his locker, and the pair trudge off to AP English together, the topic turning to the chapters of "A Clockwork Orange" they had to cover and whether or not Mr Brosnahan's hair is real or not.

 

* * *

 

 

The next gift arrives on Saturday morning when Ned is blissfully cocooned in his comforter, dreaming of a giant Stay Puff marshmallow knight defending Manhattan from King Ghidorah. The box is full this time and heavy, secured to the ledge with industrial-strength tape.

Inside there's a stack of books, fresh and new. Books on technological architecture, on Egyptian mythology, on the history of urban legends and cursed art around the world. Books he's wanted for months but never asked for or saved up for, because spending thirty dollars on a book was obscene and indulgent.

Ned hugs the books closer as if they might turn to dust if he doesn't hold on tight enough. He leans out of the window and, because there's nothing else he can think to do, yells "Thank you Santa!" into the throng of his neighbourhood.

 

* * *

 

 

"I need your opinion on something and I need an objective opinion," Ned asks the following Saturday. The four of them - Ned, Peter, Michelle, and Shuri - are visiting Central Park to watch the ice skaters and Michelle and Peter have gone to attempt it themselves.

Shuri watches him closely and sips at her mocha. "As if I would give anything else. But go ahead." She looks so young, bundled into a hugely oversized puffa jacket and beanie, unused to but unwilling to fight the North American winter.

"I think I may have a... what's a word for a polite stalker?"

"I don't think there is one. Are you being stalked?" Shuri never takes anything too seriously. She once defended her country with fist blasters and a smirk, so Ned's entanglements must not even register as a blip.

"I don't know. I mean... I keep receiving packages." Shuri's eyebrows shoot up, before Ned retorts, "Nothing - nothing dark or anything. CDs, books, a stuffed toy."

That had come this morning, nestled in layers of tissue paper; a little stuffed Einstein complete with a piece of chalk. It's adorable and nerdy and curled up in Ned's bookshelf next to the books he'd received.

"It's odd, but still... and you do not know who it is?"

"Nope." Ned sips at his hot chocolate. Out on the ice rink, Peter, he of advanced motor reflexes and speed, defender of the planet, looks over at them and manages to pinwheel in mid-air and crash face-first to the ice. Michelle skates past him, doubled over with laughter.

"Let me know next time. Don't open it. I'll send you something to check." Shuri says after a long moment. "I'm sure it's nothing sinister but I will ensure that. We can get involved if needs be."

 _We_ means the Avengers or the Wakandan royal family or any number of high-ranking Black-Ops officials more suited to protecting global assets, not confused teenagers. Shuri has two bodyguards discreetly parked on a bench two rows back, snickering as Peter tries to pull himself up off the ice only to fall on his back this time, and could construct a weapon out of whatever lint is in the pockets of her massive coat. The people Peter plays with - and by extension as Peter's BFF, the people Ned plays with - are in a different league entirely.

"I'm sure it won't be necessary," Ned says, "but thank you. Seriously." He and Shuri haven't always been the closest - Ned suspects she thinks he's an idiot, which compared to her he is (although if it's by comparison, then basically the entire population is an idiot), and humours him a little. He hopes they're friends though; Shuri seems to need some regular friends who talk smack about each other and talk about TV shows and drink coffee and share Spotify playlists.

Shuri nods, apparently satisfied and they turn back to watching Peter try to make his way around the rink, his face blazing red, while Michelle loops around him, effortlessly carving swirls into the ice.

 

* * *

 

 

The gifts continue.

A little emoji stress ball with heart eyes. A couple of Star Wars Funko Pops to add to his collection. A brand new copy of the Uncharted game that Ned's been lusting for, refreshing the deals pages covetously every few days. He cuddles it close and then immediately invites Peter around for a gaming session.

He finds a pair of cufflinks in the final package, the day before the Winter Formal, in the shape of the Millennium Falcon. They're solid and gleam bright and Ned falls asleep at his desk, finishing his AP Spanish assignment as he runs his fingers over and over the ridges and grooves.

He has no idea who could be doing this. Someone observing him closely and buying him things he either needs or wants or would like. It's an odd cocktail of emotions, suspicion and worry intermingled with a strange pleasure of being at the centre of attention, even if it's only for a little while, he can maybe relish in having someone send him nice things. Even if it's just this tiny two-person drama, and not saving the city with help of a spider's bite.

 

* * *

 

 

No formal arrangements are made, or maybe they are and they get lost in the mental shuffle of Ned's mind (school-Peter-gifts-Peter-Spider-Man-friends-homework-Peter), but Shuri organises everything and lets them know via the WhatsApp group ('#NERDS' reads the title) of what's to happen for the Midtown High Winter Formal.

Peter swings (Ned will never forgive a chance for a pun) by after school and patrolling and they get changed together, Ned doing his damnedness to avoid snatching glances of Peter when they're half-naked. The limo picks them up at six-thirty promptly, with Ned's mom cooing and his sister Daisy taking photos relentlessly, and both boys promising to be back in the Leeds home no later than midnight.

Shuri is the most excited out of all of them, bouncing in her seat. Her hair is a series of intricate locs with a temporary iridescent sheen that makes her look like an ancient sea goddess, particularly in her turquoise Tracy Reese dress. Michelle is resplendent in a bright red Telfar gown, tucked into elaborate waves, and her hair is tousled and loose. Ned almost doesn't recognise her.

He and Peter are in fancy dinner suits courtesy of Tony Stark who, upon learning about the dance, insisted that if he was going to be a part of Peter's life and view any photos of the dance, he'd insist that the boys were in decent tuxs. Ned had woken up two days earlier with a courier dropping off a slick bag, containing a perfectly-fitted suit and a kind note from the desks of both Tom Ford and Pepper Potts themselves. He places the little Millennium Falcon cufflinks in himself so that they catch the light, as if soaring through a star.

Midtown School might be renowned for a lot of achievements, but its ability to pull off a dance is quietly underrated. The food and drinks are decent enough, the decorations are solid (thanks to the dance committee and their commitment to the theme of 'winter opulence' which basically equates to moody lighting and faux fur throws on the back of chairs like an inexpensive Game of Thrones-themed wedding), and most importantly, the music selection is fantastic. Ned even thinks he hears a few of his favourite Britney songs sprinkled in.

Ned says hi to a few people while Peter and Shuri grab drinks. Michelle nods to Cindy and Betty (in pink and ice white respectively) and addresses Ned whilst managing to avoid all eye contact with him. "So. I know you're in love with Peter."

Ned splutters for a second, grateful the drinks are not currently in his possession, and then manages, "What? No. That's - pshaw, ridiculous. How - how do I know you're not in love with Peter? Huh?"

Michelle's unimpressed face is something he's often seen in his direction, but somehow still manages to stop him dead. "Really, Leeds?"

"Fine. Fuck," he curses, wanting to bury his head in the nearest available patch of sand and wait for death. "This is awful. How did you know?"

"You are the most obvious person on the planet. Seriously, you could see this crush from space. From deep space. From - "

"Okay," Ned interjects, because Peter and Shuri are on their way back, a drink in each hand, and he's mortified and embarrassed and he plasters a cheery grin to his face. "What have we got?"

"Four glasses of questionable quality, full of fruit punch," Peter announces loftily, handing them over. "The punch is also of questionable quality." They sip and agree on its questionableness (it tastes like a Kool-Aid-flavoured eulogy to the good punch it may have once been) before heading off to the dancefloor to dance their hearts out.

Eventually, the music transitions from upbeat bangers to slower jams. Ned ends up dancing with Shuri who teases his steps and Michelle who makes him discuss the upcoming review of the Sovokia Accords and Bruce Banner's series of upcoming lectures and who is in their Top 5 of the new "Drag Race" season.

And then Michelle is spinning him like a top and his hands are directed into Peter's embrace, the pair falling into a slow sway as the DJ transitions into Vanessa Williams' "Save the Best For Last" which Ned loves, especially when he's up close and personal with Peter.

They sway for a little, Ned thinking about the way that the indigo light falls on Peter, making him look handsome and stoic and... worried? Chewing his lip a little, eyes a little with anxiety?

"What's wrong?" Ned asks, a splinter of worry (what if he's weird or worried about being seen dancing with a guy, please God don't let this be the straw that breaks a biphobic camel's back) puncturing his mind.

"Shuri... told me. About the boxes you've been receiving the gifts."

"Oh... it's fine. I mean it's weird, but there's nothing wrong and Shuri scanned them all and it's just - "

"It was me," Peter interrupts on a rush of words. Ned stills, moved only by his breath and the gentle jostling from Peter's movements. "I - God, I'm the one who sent you the pacakages. The, uh, the boxes. On your windowsill." He immediately blushes.

"Oh. Huh," Ned manages. His brain - reboots for lack of a better term. It makes sense, weirdly, in a 'how did the packages get up there way', and resolves a longstanding mental theory that someone was climbing along ledges to drop them off.

Being Spider-Man? A heck of a lot easier.

"You're freaking out. I'm sorry. I'm freaking - I mean I'm freaking out and you are and I really should have waited. Or not done this at all," Peter is blabbering, sweat dripping at his temples. "I just - you look so handsome and I just - it's Christmas and you should always tell the truth at Christmas."

"You know I hate that movie."

"I know. I may have panic-watched it eight times this week to try and... do something."

"Why? Why the... packages?"

Peter blinks, panic temporarily cast over in favour of confusion. "Because I like you. Like... like you. I kinda thought that was obvious."

Huh.

Wow.

Fuck.

"So it was..." Ned's voice trails off, information reformatting and rebuilding itself in his mind as Peter's hands flit from hand to waist nervously, taut with energy, as if he's scared Ned will try and flee, will push him away, reject him in the cruelest way possible.

Peter likes him. _Likes him likes him._

"Me? Me? Why me?"

"Because you're handsome and funny and you're - you're my guy in the chair, you bring me home and save the people of New York and never let me win at Mario Kart even when I've had a bad night. You're..." Peter frowns, as if trying to collate a million racing thoughts into one, "you're _Ned_. You're everything."

"You gave me music. And the books. And the... everything. On my windowsill?"

Peter nods as they sway to the music. "The, uh... the spider in me wanted me to make it official. You know. Make sure you chose me."

"Chose you?"

"As your mate." Peter cringes a little. "It's so dumb, I know, and total invasion of privacy leaving stuff on your windowsill, but it's just... I wanted to prove myself. Prove that I could provide for you."

"You did," Ned agrees, and shuffles closer, feeling warm in his toes. "I feel very provided for. A-plus. Good job."

Peter smiles, secures his broad hands along Ned's waist. "Good. The spider wanted me to like... bring you food and the bodies of your enemies." Off Ned's curious look, Peter buried his head against Ned's shoulder. "It's so weird. There's a Spider Man banner hanging in your room right now."

Ned laughs and presses his lips to Peter's temple. "All good. Stalker. I bet you even made sure to have the Britney songs playing, didn't you?"

Peter raises his head and smiles, a little shy and sweet, and his eyes go soft and then they're kissing in the middle of the dancefloor, violet lights bouncing off their suits, and the music covering everything and it's so perfect Ned can't even comprehend it all.

They kiss for a little while as the colours change as so do the songs. Ned blinks himself into the moment, moved from memorising the roof of Peter's furnace-warm mouth with his tongue into recognising the Carly Rae Jepsen song playing around them. In the distance he sees Shuri and Michelle, talking intently and holding hands because apparently he and Peter can't have the lion's share of revelations. Good for them, he thinks.

"I love you," Peter says, soft and sweet and vulnerable.

"I know," Ned says, because he's an asshole but apparently he's Peter's asshole (he promises to never say that sentiment out loud - he can feel Shuri and Michelle's decades-long laughter in his ears) so that's okay then.

Peter rolls his eyes, mutters, " _nerd_ ", under his breath, and reels him in for another kiss and Ned stops talking.

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas morning blooms bright and cold and warm and before long, Ned's unwrapping gifts and helping his mom cook before Peter and May arrive. His sisters tease him mercilessly about Peter but with the kind of good humour that comes from satisfaction.

"He's going to be blushing!" Daisy says, braiding her long hair into a beautiful and intricate crown. "This is the Christmas gift, bro. Best thing you could have ever given us."

"It's so precious," Camille agrees. Her girlfriend is helping his mom lay the table for dinner, so she's on her best behaviour; normally the teasing would be even louder. "I wonder if it'll be a spring wedding."

Ned ignores them and focuses on his phone, where a new message from Peter competes with Merry Christmas messages from a pleasingly high number of superheroes to let him know that he and May will be there in twenty minutes. A string of kisses completes the text as has every message they've exchanged in the eleven days since Winter Formal.

Shuri and Michelle share greetings and video clips from their own Christmas celebrations, namely Shuri taking Michelle and her family out to Christmas dinner in the Empire State Building, and the two of them bingeing on "Grownish" while cuddled up in some kind of fancy suite. It's sickeningly cute. Ned plans on retaliation by sending them the cutest selfies he can of he and Peter to assert their dominance as the cutest couple. It's only fair really.

And then Peter and May arrive with bags of presents and snow in their hair and Peter and Ned head to his room, even though they're just going to play video games and their Mom, smirking, tells them to keep the door open. Their hands and elbows touch as they fight each other on Mario Kart, and end up sneaking a lengthy kiss when discussion of "The Bachelor" turns passionate in the living room.

At dinner, Ned looks around the table at his family, found and forged, and smiles a little as the scramble for food begins. Peter loops his fingers through Ned's, warm and sweet, and leans in a little.

Across the table, Camille looks up at them, pulls out her smartphone, times it right with her photographer's eye, and snaps a photo.

 

* * *

 

The photo nestles neatly in both the Parker and Leeds households for years to come; Ned and Peter leaning into one another, hands touched to faces. Their foreheads are pressed together and their lips aren't just yet, but somehow that makes everything that comes afterwards all the sweeter.


End file.
